


When My Time comes | tommyinnit

by nightshift07



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: #brocken, Am I doing this right?, Angst, Angst and Feels, Depression, Dream Smp, Exile, Gen, Hurt, I am so tired, I can’t think if any more, It’s 1:43 am I need to sleep, L’manberg, MCYT AU, Mentioned Alexis | Quackity, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Floris | Fundy, Mild Language, Minecraft, No Romance, No beta we die like l’manberg bb, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, The Nether (Minecraft), Tommy-centric, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Toby Smith | Tubbo, brainrot, i don’t forgive him, i like hurting you reader, reader is sort of involved I guess, rip i guess, theseus - Freeform, tommy dies, tommy is depressed lmao, tubbo is a bitch, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29791509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshift07/pseuds/nightshift07
Summary: Tommyinnit oneshot‘And in that fleeting moment, he grew wings.’In which Theseus recognises a horrible truth, so he sets himself free at last.Reuploaded from wattpadWritten: 24.12.20
Kudos: 38





	When My Time comes | tommyinnit

**Author's Note:**

> TW:
> 
> \- Major character death  
> \- heavy suicidal themes  
> \- literal straight up suicide

When My Time Comes:

Life can't always be fair, dear reader, you would do best to remember that.

Dream's sad excuse of a friendship hadn't been nearly enough to fill the soul eating void he felt tearing away at his being. His happiness was thousands of blocks away, back in l'manburg with his friends. He missed the old days, back when he could be careless, lazing about in fields as his child like, boisterous laughter filled the air like the chorus of a sickly sweet song. Those days felt like so long ago now, like a fleeting memory, distant and surreal. 

If he focused hard enough, he could still see Wilbur walking with Sally in the safety of the blackstone walls, he could see Eret and Fundy as they crafted flower crowns by the camarvan, he could see Tubbo chasing a lone bee and he could see himself. Years younger, eyes full of life, not living in fear of the constant threat of Dream's twisted ideals.

When he looses focus though, he can hear the screams of Tubbo as he stands on an obsidian wall, he can see Fundy and Quackity doe eyed as they remain unspeaking, he can see Ghostbur clenching ocean blue dye and he can see himself. A week younger, eyes full of betrayal at the thought that his best friend had chosen a country over him.

Normally he would cry but he couldn't find it in himself to bother producing the tears necessary for that, it was too much effort and frankly he'd cried enough in the last few days. He rolled over in his uncomfortable bed, the feeling of cool, hard metal pressing into his back made him let out a silent sigh. He shifted, reaching behind him carelessly, shuffling his hand around until his fingers met the same cool surface. He grasped it, moving the object into his field of vision.

Tears didn't seem so difficult to produce anymore, he found himself staring into his own broken, glassy eyes in the glass of a shiny new compass. 

He stared at himself for a moment, how had he gotten here? 

He flipped the compass over gingerly 'your Tubbo', it read. Hot, rage filled tears filled his eyes, slipping soundlessly down his cheeks. 

'Your Tubbo'

Tubbo wasn't his, he never had been. He'd been so foolishly naive to believe that any single person could truly devote them self to being entirely his. It was laughable really.

He blinked, feeling his mind slip into a dangerous thought, one he had previously ignored, to frightened by it to actually confront it before this moment.

You can't run from your problems forever though.

He hated Tubbo, only now did he realise that much. It had been difficult to adjust from relying on someone constantly to being entirely alone, but now that he had, he didn't think he could ever go back. Tubbo was the reason he was stuck out here anyway. What good was a bond like that if it was all just a façade? If he hadn't of relied on such a push over he wouldn't be stuck so far from the only things that brought him joy. 

In his fit of blind rage, he didn't notice his grip tightening around the pathetic compass, he didn't realise even when it began to get crushed. His mind too polluted by the memories of a day long forgotten. He snapped out of it at the sound of glass shattering. He looked down, assessing the damage he'd done.

That's all he ever did, damage. He was a liability, that's what tubbo had said when he was getting exiled anyway. Maybe Tubbo was right, maybe he was nothing more then a danger to others, maybe Tubbo was right in disposing of his compass as well, maybe he should follow Tubbo's lead and get rid of his too.

The compasses where stupid anyway. They where nothing but a fragile promise of friendship and protection, but when the friendship never existed to start off with, what was the need to be constantly bonded to the other? was there really and need to try and protect something that was already broken?

Despite his utter acceptance of this fact, hot tears still burnt tracks down his cheeks, they where a special type of tear, the kind that make you feel like your soul is being ripped from your body, the kind that crush you just by surfacing in your eyes, the kind that can only be made by someone reminiscing on a beautiful time when they where happy with someone who they now know stabs them in the back.

A silent sob racked his body, the crushed compass long forgotten, he would give anything to just go back to a time when he was so blindly happy, when he could feel limitless amounts of unfiltered joy, when he could smile without a care. He'd ruined everything. He'd lost anything and everything that made him who he was. He had nothing to live for anymore. He remembered a time when life seemed so great, when everything had a certain vibrancy to it. Everything tinted with some false sense of security.

He remembered a time when he watched the sun as it set over the horizon every single day without fail, never growing bored of it, he remembered basking in the warmth that dawn provided and he remembered loving and receiving love and yet now when he needed love most, no one was there to provide it. he had been abandoned by his country, left to fend for himself. He no longer felt warm and joyous when watching the sun set, he didn't find its pinks and purples beautiful anymore. Life had lost its edge and living had lost its appeal. So there he lay. 

The sobs had stopped by now, though tears still occasionally ran down the paths they'd carved into his mottled skin. He lay there doing something he never thought himself capable of, he began contemplating how to remove himself from the equation. He found his mind fixating on a single thing, death.

The imposing idea of death used to scare him, he used to be afraid of how uncertain yet inevitable it was but right now he couldn't think of anything more inviting.

Death was a sweet release, death was going to free him from the monotonous cycle, death was going to give him the wings he needed to fly. Death would provide him with everything he'd ever wanted and more. Death would be the rocking cradle that lulled him into a peaceful sleep. Death would make him feel something. Death would feel glorious.

And so it was decided.

He moved quickly and precisely, his long bony legs carrying him out of bed and towards his nether portal. Everything was a blur, his mind was moving faster then his body could keep up with and he recognised that so he paused for a moment, taking a brief second to take one last look at his home.

Who was he kidding? This place wasn't his home, It never would be. His home was back in l'manburg, his home was with his friends (where they really his friends?), his home was where he was happy and that certainly wasn't here. He sighed, turning to face the portal again and without so much as a second thought, he stepped through.

His body shook slightly as he warped through dimensions, it wouldn't be long now before he got his release. As he surfaced on the other side, he found himself instinctually adjusting the way he breathed, his breaths becoming more short and shallow to acclimatise to the humid air of the nether. 

It's strange how humans do that, always adapt to survive even when they don't want to. It's funny, isn't it reader?

He wasted no time in moving to the side of the bridge, staring down at the orange liquid as it bubbled and spat. For the first time, he didn't feel scared of the daunting height. 

The usually off putting heat that radiated from the blistering pools didn't affect him today because today was different, today he had no plans on going home.

He stepped back from the edge briefly, though it wasn't because he was hesitating or having second thoughts, rather it was because he decided that he wanted a run up. He may as well make a show out of his own death. Who would he be if he didn't? He certainly wouldn't be himself and he knew he wanted to be himself in his last moments.

He took a deep breath in, like that would help when he hit the molten lava, he scoffed. With a final dragged out sigh, he set off running, his foot leaving the platform without even a moments hesitation. He was falling through the air, a spectacle for all to see and in some tragically beautiful way, he looked at peace. One would want to snap a picture, to capture the raw beauty in such a fragile moment, immortalising his pathetic end in the form of a feeble photograph.

And in that fleeting moment, he grew wings. Time seemed to go still around him but not in a poetic, beautiful way, rather a morbid horrific way as he realised that this moment would be infinite. He would be stuck here, not physically but he knew now that even in death fate would be to cruel to let him rest peacefully. 

He may have had the wings that granted him the ability to fly, the ability to soar into the clouds and live with passion and pride but he still had the mindset that kept him tethered to the ground, allowing him to do nothing other than to plunge into the steaming abyss.

For as long as he lived and as long as he didn't, he knew he'd never be able to forget the sensation of falling. The wind whipping at his sticky, tear stricken face, dishevelling his filthy blonde hair as it framed his face almost too perfectly. 

This moment would be etched permanently on his dying mind, he would whisper it into the void as his last dying breath left his lungs, mingling with the hot air and he would scream it from the heavens above or the fiery depths below, whichever he ended up in, he supposed. Where was it that people who hurled themselves off of bridges ended up anyway? Where did cowards go when their time came? 

His life didn't flash before his eyes like they said it would, instead he saw nothing put the pit of gurgling lava as he grew ever closer to it. He realised then that he'd been lied to, death wasn't something glorious, it didn't relieve you, it wasn't like a breath of fresh air to smoke filled lungs, instead it was terrifying. It was brutal and gruesome and fragile and yet he found himself remaining uncaring, this was what he'd wanted, after all.

He heard everything and nothing at once, a brilliant crescendo of bone crushing screams and sweet nothings. The sounds of the sloshing pit beneath him drowned out only by the furious beating of his soon to be still heart. He could practically hear the blood as it travelled through his veins, moving like a marching band on a silent street.

Had this actually been what he'd wanted, Or was it some twisted lie? Was he but a mere pawn in the clutches of the king, a child robbed of a childhood.

He realised then that he hadn't wanted to die, he'd just wanted to kill a certain part of himsel but In trying to do so he'd gone and gotten all of himself killed as well. He recognised then that this wasn't meant to be how it ended for him, this wasn't the glorious end meant for the Tommyinnit, not the perfectly planned demise to end all demises. It was to late for cold feet now though, wasn't it?

Once upon a younger year, he'd believed that it would never be his time to die, not that he was immortal as such, more that he was simply above the icy grips of death. He'd been wrong. He'd been so wrong. It was ironic how despite everything, all the battle and all the loss, all the many opportunities to be on the receiving end of a blade that he had missed, that this was the way he died. At his own hand.

He found himself thrashing around, desperately trying to cling onto something, the instinct to survive amplified by a million despite how futile it would prove to be. There was nothing to grab. Why would there be?

And as his frail, damaged body hit the blistering liquid, he let out a final cry of pure agony. His entire body was burning, never in his pathetic life had he felt such pain. 

Fortunately, it only lasted for a split second and as he let out his final shuddering breaths, panic turned to peace and for a final fleeting moment, he was free, a final sense of euphoria washing over his beaten and broken frame. Before he could register what was happening, he was gone. His lungs had let out their final wavering breath and his eyes had shed their final tears. His mouth had let out its last cry and his mind had finally given up. He'd given up. 

If he'd of managed to cling on to life for a moment longer, he would have heard the blood curdling scream of a certain masked man as he got to the bridge just a moment to late and if he'd have jumped just a moment later, he wouldn't have met his tragic end just yet, he would have found himself being caught just before he could fall off by said masked man. But of course he didn't cling on for a moment longer and he didn't jump just a moment later and now because of the cruel way fate seemed to work, he would suffer the consequences. He'd lived a tragic life and so he met the only fitting end, he'd died a heroes death. 

He was a fighter through and through, never failing in battle before, prevailing even in the most dire of situations. He'd never lost a fight before this one, how fitting it would be that the only opponent strong enough to combat him would be his own mind.

He was a phoenix, something of a legend, each time dawn breathed air into his lungs he would rise, stronger then the previous day into a new world. He would live for as long as his fire burned on. There was a time when his fire stopped, it wasn't a sudden thing, in fact it was rather slow, he found himself unable to rekindle his flames, only able to watch as they slowly burnt out, dying before his dulling blue eyes and now there he lay, his singed corpse laying glassy eyed in an endless pit of eternally burning fire despite the fact his own fire had burnt out.

Life is cruel, ironic in the most tragic ways, and he would come to weep, to mourn the stars as they faded from his eyes and he would find himself wishing on a dying star that somewhere, somehow in some alternate reality that he sing a different song, to finally have a finished symphony.

A toast to Theseus, always the fighter, never the fought for.

\- always yours,  
Night

**Author's Note:**

> Pls leave kudos. I’m starving I’ll take anything at this point.


End file.
